Everything
by alexzangel
Summary: I, Hermione Granger, know I'm not who I seem to be. My family history is questionable at best. I've done things that I'm not proud of. And I've made a pact that will be the death of me. But so has he. And that's probably the reason why we'll never work.
1. Chapter 1

**Well, the story is finally back!**

**A few people left me PM's and I started questioning the entire direction of the story, originally titled Impossible and I decided to take a break from it. **

**This story is written in Hermione's POV. And this chapter goes from the Present to the Past and then finally back to the Present. **

**I can't promise that reviews will be frequent as I'm switching schools and unsure of the workload, but this time I swear it will be finished!**

**Happy Reading!**

Somehow I knew between the time that Harry told me that he didn't wish to return to Hogwarts that things would never be the same. That the path that I had charted out for us was rapidly fading away.

I used to sit, absently staring into the dancing fire, in the Gryffindor common room and picture the three of us later in life. Harry was definitely in the Auror field, while Ron kept oscillating between that and a career in Quidditch.

I, on the other hand, despite what everyone thought of me had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. The only thing I knew was that I wanted to help someone. And whether that was in St. Mungo's or furthering the mission of S.P.E.W. I wasn't too sure.

Real life however, intervened and made the choice for me. Unfortunately it was neither of the two and rather, I ended up, in the last place that I anticipated. And perhaps the first place that my family history indicated.

Jail.

And how did, Hermione Jane Granger end up in jail? After all I was—and still am, one of the main faces identified in the Final Battles. Still so much history didn't save me from this.

Harry couldn't save me from this.

After all, he put me here.

**

I had been at the Burrow for two weeks, simply passing the time by reviewing all of the summer assignments. Occasionally, I would venture out of the room and was amused with a game of Exploding Snap or Chess with Ron. The interest didn't hold, because I never won at these games.

I believe it was rigged.

And though we were all on our toes, with every day more news about signs that the worst was near. More shops in Diagon Alley that were closed and the looming death toll as people gave up the search for their loved ones.

And amongst all of these thoughts, constantly swimming in our heads—I managed to smile when I heard his feet shuffle down the hallway and pause at my doorway.

"You told Ginny."

I was hurt that those were the first three words that he was offering me, after the long time that we spent apart. The letters that I sent him, he hadn't responded to. I wondered if he had even opened them.

"I told Ron that I wasn't planning on going," explained Hermione. "I forgot myself and I suppose that she overheard."

His feet shuffled, and as I scrutinized his appearance, I realized that hew as just as nervous about this entire situation as I was.

"I guess, that makes it, alright."

"No one's talking to me," explained Hermione. "Ron thinks that if I don't go, he'll end up staying here. Ginny wants me to tell her everything that I know. Mrs. Weasley believes that I'm the reason the two of you broke up, and Mr. Weasley doesn't want to get caught up in all of it."

"So why are you still here?"

"It would look bad if she kicked me out amidst all this," admitted Hermione. "Besides this is still _your _house. Unless of course you don't want me here, either."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione."

I stared down at my book, but the words flowed through one end and out the other, the words never sticking. He was here now, filling all of my senses and my brain wouldn't let me forget it.

"You've had a month to think about it, Harry. Is going out into the wilderness to fight the only solution you can think of. There isn't something more reasonable? Something that involves you continuing your education?"

"I knew you were going to do this."

"I'm worried about you."

And I was—honestly. If Harry didn't change his mind by summer's end, I would probably be packing up my things too and going in for the kill.

While I was wrapped up in my thoughts he stepped out of the doorway, and further into the room, coming to rest against what I called my dresser.

"I'm going mad standing here, right now, Hermione. And I'm sorry if it upsets you, but there isn't exactly a safe place that we can go right now. Even this is in danger."

His arms flung about the room, but I knew that he meant the entire house. I let him continue. Harry told me, rather passionately, about how he believed he needed to act while the Ministry did nothing. While the order did nothing.

And finally he hit the low blow.

"Dumbledore would've wanted us to do this."

In that moment I wanted to tell him how I thought that the man he admired, had lost it in his final days. That the man who he had come to trust the most had lost his cool tact that made him so.

Some part of me wanted to shut him out, like he had shut me out the majority of the summer. I wanted him to feel what I felt right now—the rage that was boiling underneat and the desperation. But more than that I wanted him to understand.

This room had become my own in the short time that I had been there. I got up from the bed, shaking out my stiff legs, before I reached the library. My eyes scanned the titles before I plucked the one that I had been looking for.

It was slightly worn, due to my constant reading, but it was what he needed now more than anything. He looked at me in confusion ready to protest against the weighty book.

My index finger came to rest in the middle of his lips. Harry eventually took the book from my hands and turned, probably headed towards his own room by now.

"And Harry," I added stopping him in his tracks. "There won't always be _just_ Voldemort. Sometimes there are things going on that you don't even know about."

**

I was going crazy here, or something equal. I had previously believed that being in a cell was bad enough, but now I knew different. They had moved me to a conference room of sorts—nothing personal about it.

The walls were the purest white until they practically glowed. I sat in a cool metal chair and across from me there was another. And in between those two chairs was a rather blocky table—no foot space underneath.

My hands had long ago folded across my chest and underneath my arms. And they remained there while I remained chanting the words I had started almost a minute after I'd gotten here:

**I want to talk to him. I want to see him. I need to see my husband. **

The words passed my lips, tumbling out quite clear. And though it seemed crazy to be talking to the impossibly white walls I knew from intuition that they could hear me.

It was also possible that they could see me.

The idea of that frustrated me to no end, but I wouldn't let that take me down with it. Right now I was supposed to kick and scream and show them the rage that they wanted.

An example for the jury if they decided they were going to take it to trial.

The door clicked and my eyes flew towards it. And another minute later it flung open. I had expected one person, but instead there were three that entered.

The first two were rather big men, no one that I recognized. And in their arms they carried boxes. And then the first left the room, through the same door, while the other went to put down his boxes.

I waited for him to leave, but rather than do so, he retreated to a corner. The third person that had stood at the edge of the wall watching all of this transpire finally walked forward. He definitely wasn't as big as the other two, in fact more sized towards the average body.

Finally he heaved himself off the wall and stalked towards me. He stopped a step or two short of the chair and watched me, but I didn't move my eyes to meet his.

And suddenly after enough time had passed he slid into the seat in front of me.

"We're going to rush through the process," he told me. He paused to clear his throat and lick his lips, but left no time for me in which I felt comfortable to speak. "And when the time comes, you're going to address the Wizengamot and tell them that you're not mentally sound. That Dolohov, fried the reasoning part of your brain, or some shit like that."

"I can't do that."

"You're really good at lying," he stressed. "The worst that can happen then is that your wand is snapped. In that event you can just go and travel the world as a muggle."

"I'm _not _going to do it. I _won't _do it. I _refuse_."

My jaws tightened in slight anger. I knew exactly who it was that sat before me now, but he was only a shadow of who I thought he was. Here was telling me what I was going to do and treating me like a child.

"It's always about what you want Hermione," he breathed. And he was sure doing a lot of it, probably reigning in his temper so he didn't bridge the space that was between us and do something that he'd probably regret. Something that would make the guard move towards the corner and probably pull him away from me.

"I'm not here in the way that you're probably hoping right now," he further explained. He leaned in closer to me until I could smell the scent of fresh cut wood. The smell of him riding his broom through the skies.

"There isn't a single person I can think of that isn't pissed with you right now. You're not in Azkaban because we're not too sure if you'd come back alive—not because of your personal preferences. The Minister has made it his sole objective to make sure that nothing of this sort occurs again—and I've informed him that I'm fixing my mistakes."

His words sent a chill through me. And all I could was stop and reflect upon them, turning them over and over inside my head trying to figure out if he really meant to say something else.

But I couldn't find it.

I blinked, eventually realizing that he was still talking to me. My eyes drifted towards his lips as they moved rapidly opening and closing, and occasionally pursing in frustration at his thoughts.

"How have you been?"

The words flooded from my mouth before I could stop them. And they paused and pressed together once more. I think he's been spending too much time around Professor McGonagall.

I watched as his fists clenched.

"Steven, your dismissed."

The man in the corner shifted, and I assumed that this was to who he was speaking. But even at Harry's command, he didn't budge.

"Auror Potter, that would be against protocol. With someone of such a high security risk we can't afford to…"

"I outrank you," snapped Harry. His hand waved about sounding childish and extremely annoyed that he didn't listen.

"You're not Head Auror. I'm not losing my job over this one."

Harry huffed in further frustration before signaling for him to turn around. I watched as his hand went to his waist, readying his wand, but he finally decided against it.

"Don't ask what you don't want the answer to."

And that was directed towards me.

"I need it," I countered.

He reached up and pulled at the ends of hair at my response. Harry Potter knew me—and he knew that I was persistent. We could sit here all day and I would keep asking until I got my answer.

And finally when the red was creeping up his neck, he flushing in anger he spoke to me. He looked directly at me, slightly intimidating me with the furious green of his eyes.

"I know what you did. Luna got drunk at the Weasley's Christmas dinner and she started spouting things. It was a bit incoherent, but I got the message."

"I don't believe you," I told him. "Since when does Luna drink?"

"You don't know us anymore, Hermione. Time didn't stop when you decided to run away. And for some of us things changed a lot between that time."

"But why would she –"

"I'm fine," he interrupted. He looked around and we both knew that Steven in the corner was listening to our conversation. Harry scooted closer to the table, lowering his voice. "More than anything I'm angry with you. And every second right now it's a battle to just—be in the same room with you."

"You don't have to be," I stated calmly. "I wanted to make sure that you never had to see me again. You brought this back up Harry—you brought me here."

"It's my job."

"This isn't about your damn job, Harry!"

He flinched for the first time and my throat hurt. My voice reverberated off the walls as I shouted at him disturbing the civility of our conversation.

"I'm not here trying to deny it," explained Hermione. "And I am definitely not going to try to explain it to you at all. But here you are using your position of power over me. And it's petty."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't have that right any longer in my opinion. If he wanted to play dirty, then I would too.

I turned around towards the guard.

"I want to go back to my cell."

"Yes, _do_ take her back."

My head whipped around as Steven nervously fiddled with the keys trying to find the appropriate ones, and get out of this air thick with animosity.

"You're an ass, Harry. I hope that you know that."

And that was the second time that I had seen him in about three years. For so many reasons our reunion was full of frowning and sneers. And I'm positive that beyond all of that tears were present also. I will admit that I've cried about it before.

Because we weren't always at each others throats, trying to hurt each other in every way that we possibly could. Once upon a time we were friends.

And I sincerely believe that it went wrong when we became so much more.

**Please review and tell me what you think about the new version. There will be slight and possibly major differences, but the same themes. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: One word. Swamped. I officially have no RL and therefore almost no time in which to write this story considering all of my professors piled it on thick. This was already written and so I took a break from the study schedule and am posting this. **

**Once again there is a flashback, there is a chance that there could be one in every chapter. Uh any major confusing spots---please ask. **

**Enjoy. **

I would admit that Harry was right in one respect. I probably wouldn't survive a trip through Azkaban.

Hell, even the people that were being detained here jeered as I walked past them flanked on all sides by guards.

He twisted the key opening my cell and then shut me in there. I didn't hesitate to plop down on the meager bed. I wished more than anything that I had something to keep me warm.

The basics.

And then to avoid focusing on how cold I was, my brain focused on anything but that. And instead I focused on Harry. Not on his picture but rather the words he had spoken to me.

Also, rather than thinking of the harshness I settled on the soothing potential it had. Finally I settled on what he had told me earlier about Luna drinking.

Luna didn't drink.

The Luna I used to know didn't drink.

I drank.

That was the only reason she knew.

And now Harry knew.

I could imagine it in my head right now:

Harry showed up to the family dinner as he usually did and Fred and George were playing all of their usual pranks.

Ginny was trying her best to attract Harry's attentions. And both Luna and Ron were fighting once again. Ron was fighting with his sister to give it a rest. And both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley fought to maintain the piece amongst all the ruckus.

I didn't know for sure, but I suspected that perhaps Andromeda, Teddy, Charlie, Bill, Fleur, and Percy were there too.

A full house.

Luna was no doubt over joyous about the holidays or depressed beyond consolation about something that had recently happened to her. And she took a bottle of Firewhiskey and knocked it back.

And then someone brought up my name. And the story came spilling from her lips. I really don't believe that she would have told anyone intentionally.

"You know how she was after the final battle," she probably sputtered. And Harry looked on trying to tend to her with Ron. "And you probably thought that she was just depressed. Upset that you didn't want to be an Auror. But really—"

And Luna had told him all about it.

And now Harry was trying his best to ruin her. He was doing his damndest not too look at her. And when he did look at her he did so with anger and loathing.

Didn't he know that the first was enough? That the second was pure agony, and making her feel absolutely worse about herself?

The pillows were fluffy, but flat. And she moved it punching it until it felt like something underneath her head. And tried her best to go to sleep.

Unfortunately it didn't come too easy to her.

**

"I really do think that you should go see Madam Pomfrey about this, Hermione."

I narrowed my eyes at Ron as he rung out the cloth of water once more, before dipping it into the salve. He touched my tender flesh once more as I hissed in pain.

Just at the thought of him touching it. He gave up finally splashing it down into the water while Harry hissed at him to shut up.

We spent many nights like these comparing notes on where we predicted the next horcrux to be. And many other nights debating on how we would destroy the horcrux after we found it.

And at that time I sported evidence that our planning hadn't been very efficient. The spell ricocheted off of the object, bursting my hand in bright purple flames. And while it didn't appear to be burned it hurt like hell.

"Fine you do it yourself!"

"Ronald."

"Don't, Ron me. Harry back me up on this!"

He was crouched down on the floor, pouring over books trying to ascertain how to blow this one up without getting the results she was facing at the moment.

"I'm not getting into it. I already tried, remember?"

He was talking to Ron more than me. Well, not really me at all considering how we had fought about this profusely.

Harry's greatest fear was that I could lose my hand. I'd been researching a lot so I doubted that it were entirely possible.

My biggest concern in going to the hospital wing was that Madam Pomfrey would begin to ask questions. And then the entire story would come tumbling out. And we couldn't have that, could we?

Harry said it was worth it.

And now we simply weren't talking.

Ron spent his time looking between each of us who refused to participate in a good conversation, shooting down each of his attempts. And finally he shrugged his shoulders, huffed and stomped up the stairs.

I sat in the chair facing the fire for the longest simply trying to avoid the throbbing. I probably should've gone up to bed myself.

There would be no talking to Harry on my end, but I wanted to be here because I had promised that I would be. This was beyond whatever personal dilemma we were having at the moment.

This was about our lives.

It was about other lives.

Finally his book snapped shut and in the blink of an eye, he blocked my view of the fire and was standing before me, touching my good right hand.

He stroked my fingers lightly and finally I had, had enough. No, I wouldn't move, but I turned my face away as his finger kept its circular motion.

"I'm giving it a week, Hermione. And if it stays the same or gets any worse, I'm dragging you to the hospital wing. But for tonight we'll wrap it."

"No, Harry."

"It wasn't a question," he spoke wryly.

I knew that, but I was afraid that it was going to hurt. I knew that it was going to hurt like hell even if he touched it. But his hand left mine to grab at the basin on the edge of the side table and he retrieved the cloth that Ron had dropped in haste.

"So have you thought about my question at all?" asked Harry.

"It wasn't truly a question."

"Alright," he paused. "A declaration."

"What about it?"

"Hermione. Are you going to make me say it?"

He sighed dipping the cloth and then running it up and down my arm. There wasn't time to hiss until after he had already finished rubbing it all in. It smelled strongly of something similar to rubbing alcohol.

"I don't want to hear it."

"What's so awful about it?"

"I'm not completely oblivious," admitted Hermione. "I know that Ron's interested in me. And I know that Ginny is more than ready to take you back. I just don't need to make the situation any more complicated than it already is."

"I still don't see."

"You don't see or you don't care?" I snipped. Hermione let out a short gasp as he started wrapping her arm with gauze. She had to admit that once it was tightened the pain began to lessen. She could still feel slight pain as his fingers walked over the wrapped portion.

"Do you like me or not?" he snapped.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean—"

"I just don't know, alright."

"I was afraid too, you know. With everything going on, don't you think that I'm worried too? That if something went wrong I'd be concerned if our friendship could survive."

Harry took a pair of scissors snipping at the gauze and tucking the stray piece under.

"But if for some reason our confidence didn't see us through these days, I would want to go knowing that I'd tried everything I wanted to."

I shifted in the chair, my knee clunking against his and he stumbled to prevent himself from falling over. And I knew where he was coming from because I'd considered the same thing too.

"Thank you for wrapping my arm."

And I edged out of the couch knowing that he wouldn't move, hopping over the arm rest. I grabbed at all of the things that I had around me. And escaped as quickly as possible.

I had been doing that a lot lately.

See the entire school was buzzing about this weird triangle going on between Harry, Ginny, and I. And let me say that it isn't that serious.

Simply put Ginny wants me to get her back into good graces with Harry, while I have no intentions of doing so. Harry and I have spent many a night in the common rooms and one time fell asleep. And now everyone assumes that we are together.

And now he is trying to make it a reality. Perhaps that wasn't the only reason why I constantly shot him down.

I slid into my room careful not to disturb the other sleeping girls, and went immediately to my trunk. I took extreme care to put the items back into my trunk. And when they did plunk down my brown furrowed.

I grew suspicious then. Without hesitation now I turned on the bedside lamp and began rummaging through my belongings. Something big was definitely missing from my trunk.

And I bit my lip knowing instantly that there was no way that I could start asking around if anyone had seen it. If anyone had seen my necklace.

**

I knew what he wanted me to do. He had discussed it two days ago. And I was still firm in my belief that I would not do it.

They had spent the majority of time telling me all of the things that I could and could not do when we arrived in the court room—when I took the stand. But within minutes of being questioned by Rotunda Damascene I was breaking all of them.

She reminded me somewhat of Ginny. The only similarity probably being the red hair and her voice. On the other hand Ginny was rather slim while Rotunda filled out her hips quite generously.

My hand flew out as she dangled my necklace in front of me. The ruby sparkled in the dim light and it hung loosely on a cheap cord of leather.

I knew it was mine because it called to me.

And it was used simply to goad me.

She pulled it back, her wide smile showing her pearly teeth. And then she turned to address the Wizengamot.

"Hermione Jane Granger is being charged with several counts of murder. Most recently in the attempted death of Roberta Garfunkle. Conspiracy to overthrow the government—and on the tamer end failure to comply with the government regulations that every magical household be registered with the proper officials."

"And how do you plead Ms. Granger?"

"I plead not guilty."

Harry was near in the first row in the audience. The few reporters that were present in the room were most likely tuned to him. I could see that he was shaking his head profusely at my words.

How could he expect any different?

"I will give you another chance, Ms. Granger. How do you plead to these charges? Recognize that if you are found indeed guilty the charges will be even more severe."

"Not guilty," I pressed. My teeth grinded together slightly quickly angering. There was no second chance in these proceedings. "And I am married, you know."

"Off the record," muttered Rotunda to the woman in the corner as she typed away, quickly scratching out my last comment. "I have just one more question to ask you."

"Alright," I agreed. "One question."

And slowly but surely one question turned into three. And three turned into five. And reluctantly I answered each. The thing about them was that we weren't getting anywhere.

There wasn't any reason for me to get up that morning and dress so everyone could get a piece of me. So every person could see how I'd changed. How my hair was much longer than it had been before—and possibly wilder, and how I'd lost a significant amount of weight. The point wasn't that I wasn't identified as being married because everybody knew.

Everybody knew that I was Harry Potter's wife.

And it was probably at his request.

I now knew that he was right in that he had changed. Never before had he cared about protecting the precious name of the Potter family. Protecting the name of the Black family. And simply not bothering ot lift a finger to protect me.

"Ms. Damascene, do you know that there's a Number Twelve Grimmauld Place? Harry inherited it from his godfather—it's the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters."

My voice covered the entire room quite easily. Everyone wanted to hear what I said. And they were all flustered at the news. Partially taken aback that Harry Potter would himself skirt around the laws. And also at the fact that so many people had heard that they had to take action.

If they didn't surely a riot would ensue.

And I turned my head to look back up at Harry. His head had stopped shaking from side to side, and now he simply glared at me. His powerful green eyes stared down at me trying to rip through my soul.

I returned the stare likewise a slight smile creeping up the left side of my face. I knew that what I had done was wrong. I knew that it hurt more people than Harry. People that were undeserving of my wrath.

I knew it, but I got immense gratification from it. The look on his face was well worth it and slowly the guilt ebbed away.

Because had to know that he started this cycle.

He had to know that I would retaliate.

**I have no idea when I'll next be able to update, but the next chapter is halfway done. **

**Please review and tell me what you thought of it, improvements, and etc. **


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